Margaret the Butterfly

In the early years of raising five children with ten years between the eldest and the youngest, life was busy. The older children were involved in sports and theater and activities and this meant a lot of time for the twins finding things to do while we waited for practices, games and rehearsals to end. In other words, this stay at home mom in those days was actually rarely at home, which was fine with me.

They had little toddler bikes which we tossed into the back of our van so they could ride them around the parking lot or sidewalks of whichever ball field, school or church we were hanging out that day. This worked very well and they enjoyed the time together.

We were able to get very creative in our surroundings, especially over the five years we spent most weekday afternoons on the expansive combined middle-high school grounds of the older children’s schools in Loudoun County. There was a very steep staircase near the football field with a ramp going around it. We pretended it was a “magic” staircase and climbed it, circling back around the ramp from the top back to the bottom over and over.

We discovered that it was possible to walk down from the middle school parking lot to the lacrosse fields on a wide footpath. The kids found discarded lacrosse balls everywhere and would roll them down the hill, run down the hill to retrieve them and then hike back up to the top and start again.

Between the bikes and the “magic” staircase and the game of rolling the lacrosse balls down the hill and up again; those twins were sound asleep by 7:30 nearly every evening, like clockwork.

It was a peaceful afternoon outside the school in early spring, when we first saw a beautiful Monarch butterfly circling around a little outside garden. The twins were about 2 years old and were fascinated watching this exquisite creature fly around and land on the flowers. This close observation went on for about one hour. They wanted to catch it and keep it as a pet. They were very sad when I told them no, not today. How about this, instead. Let’s give the butterfly a name and maybe you will see her again tomorrow afternoon, because clearly this is her home. They accepted this idea through their tears and together, we decided on the name Margaret.

Sure enough, the next afternoon while we were once again waiting and playing, we saw “Margaret.” We saw her the next day too and the next day and the next day. That weekend, we went to a different park to play, miles away from the school. As I was keeping one eye on them from my park bench and the other eye on my book, all of a sudden, I heard little squeals of delight. Mommy!! they cried in unison. Margaret is here! Sure enough, there was a Monarch butterfly on the bush near the swings. Look at that, she found you all the way across town!

For the next few years in the spring and summer, Margaret showed up everywhere we went. Sometimes we wouldn’t see her for months, until one warm day in spring when I would hear a little voice cry out. Mommy! It’s Margaret. Yes, it is. How amazing. How does she know where we are, every single time? Even all the way at Grandma’s house in the heart of the mountains in North Carolina. How can this be. How does she keep finding us?

Sometimes we would see a Monarch with slightly different colors and they would announce, oh that butterfly looks like Margaret, but that’s definitely not Margaret.

I don’t remember exactly when they figured it out, but it remains one of my favorite memories of the magical side of parenting little children.

Today on an early morning spring walk, I saw Margaret for the first time in awhile. She paused in her journey, just long enough for me to take her photo.

And right there in that moment, she brought with her memories of a season which now feels like another lifetime, of endless and delightful hours with my young children, searching for Margaret the Butterfly.